


gotcha!

by icedmango



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Relationship Study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:27:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25888831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icedmango/pseuds/icedmango
Summary: Miwa, Tobio, and some haircuts.
Relationships: Kageyama Miwa & Kageyama Tobio
Comments: 4
Kudos: 51





	gotcha!

1.

Tobio’s first memory is this:

“To-bi-o,” Miwa says. Tobio stares up at her, strapped down in his high chair with a runny nose and fists raised. “You’re so _gross_.”

“He’s a baby,” Kazuyo-kun says, gentle and just passing through with a quick ruffle of Tobio’s hair. “Tobio can’t take care of himself yet, Miwa.”

“He’s still gross,” Miwa declares, and Tobio only sniffs in response, snot making a tiny bubble before popping. “Yuck.” She stares at him, unblinking, while he stares back, blinking several times. “The point of a staring contest is to _not_ blink!”

Tobio blinks in response.

“Whatever,” Miwa says, and unbuckles him, grabs him by the armpits and pulls him up. “You’re getting heavier,” she complains, cradling him against her chest as she walks, his head lolling into her neck. “How are you so heavy and dumb at the same time?” Tobio fists his small hands around her shirt and smears snot over her shoulder.

Before he can start gnawing on her neck, Miwa undoes his fists and seats him on the ground: he’s in her room, pale green walls and a pile of neatly folded blankets in the corner.

Tobio immediately starts crawling towards them.

“Hey, hold still, Tobio,” Miwa says, clicking her tongue as she grabs him by his armpits, placing him upright again.

“Mwah,” Tobio says, protesting. “ _Mwah!_ ”

“You need to call me nee-san, Tobio,” Miwa says, pinching his cheek. “I’m your big sister!”

“Mwah!”

“You’re so annoying,” Miwa says. “Hold still,” she says, yanking him back. This time, she sits him up and places a volleyball on his lap. Tobio latches onto it immediately, curling his tiny arms around it and chewing it with all the force his two baby teeth have. “Good,” Miwa says, pleased. “Don’t move, okay, Tobio?”

Tobio, clutching the volleyball, obediently stays still as Miwa takes a handful of plastic barrettes and, one by one, clips his hair with them. The barrettes pinch his scalp, but it doesn’t hurt enough to make him let go of the ball.

“Good, Tobio,” Miwa says, pleased. She waves a pair of purple safety scissors in front of his face. “I’m going to cut your hair now, okay? You need to stay really still for this!”

Tobio only holds onto the ball more tightly. Miwa’s hands are only a little shaky as they snip away his hair. Cut strands fall onto his nose, and Tobio pauses eating the ball long enough to sneeze. “You’re so gross, Tobio,” Miwa grumbles, poking him in the cheek. “But you’re going to look cute, after this, promise!”

Tobio doesn’t know what that means. He doesn’t move, either way, just holds onto the ball as the scissors continue chomping off hair like a hungry shark.

(“Miwa, have you seen — _what did you do to your brother’s head?_ ”)

2.

The funeral is a short affair. The sun is as bright as a fresh egg-yolk (read: very bright), the other guests are kind and stifling and exhausting all at once, the stench of all the flowers makes Tobio dizzy, and two hours into staring at the framed photo of a smiling Kazuyo-kun, Miwa places a hand on his shoulder.

He shakes her off immediately. “Don’t touch me,” he hisses, and Miwa, standing in front of him, frowns at him.

He thinks that she’s going to berate him for snapping, but Miwa only says, “Let’s go home now.”

“Now?”

“Now.”

The walk home is quiet. Tobio’s shoes are shiny and new and too big for him, his ankle popping out of the shoe with every step. He wants his volleyball shoes: navy blue and worn at the edges, perfectly fit to his feet, with neon green laces Kazuyo-kun had given him years ago as a small gift for not failing his math test.

Miwa opens the door to the house with keys Tobio had thought she’d long thrown away, and Tobio follows her inside, kicking off his shoes as soon as the door closes.

“Are you hungry?” Miwa’s searching through the fridge, and Tobio hears the rustle and rustle of cold plastic instant meals being jostled.

“No,” Tobio says. He wants to take off his suit – it itches and doesn’t fit right. His hands feel heavy and clumsy whenever he raises them to the buttons, though, so he doesn’t.

“You should eat, Tobio, you haven’t had breakfast today.”

“I’m okay, nee-san,” he says, unable to swallow back the irritation. Miwa only pauses her search of the fridge to stare at him, eyes cool and knowing, and Tobio looks away, face burning.

“Okay,” she says, letting the door shut. “Eat later, when you’re hungry. Okay, Tobio?”

“Okay, nee-san.”

Miwa walks over. Tobio’s still standing near the door, caught between the two conflicting tasks of wanting to put his shoes away properly like Kazuyo-kun told him to and wanting to lock himself in his room and stare at the ceiling.

“Tobio,” Miwa says. Her hand hovers awkwardly above his head, then withdraws and drops. Tobio stares at her, small and tired in her wrinkled suit. He’s her height, now, but the wedges make her taller than him.

Her nails are glossy and short and perfectly trimmed. He wonders if her hands still have calluses. He wonders if she even remembers the game.

He wonders.

Miwa raises her hand again, holds it up to his cheek like she’s going to cup his face, and then doesn’t touch him. Just holds it there in the air, steady and unwavering.

 _Steady hands, Miwa_ , Kazuyo-kun used to say. _Steady, or the ball won’t go where you want it to go_.

“Tobio,” Miwa says again. Her hand is still there. She’s still not touching him. “I’m going to cut your hair, okay? It’s a little long.”

Kazuyo-kun was in the hospital, Miwa was off at college, Mom had been promoted to piloting regional flights instead of just local ones, and Dad spent long hours carefully slicing and sewing up his patients. For the past few months, Tobio has been trimming his hair with kitchen scissors, leaning over the bathroom sink in his thin Vabo-chan pajamas, with nail clippers placed at his elbow so he doesn’t forget to keep his nails short and clean, too.

Tobio shrugs. Miwa withdraws her hand and walks away. He only hesitates a little before following.

Miwa seats him at the dining table, draping an old bed sheet over his shoulders and brandishing a pair of thin black scissors that she apparently always keeps in her purse.

Tobio closes his eyes. The only sound is the staccato of Miwa snipping at his hair, slow and gentle and steady.

 _Will you play volleyball with me after you finish_ , Tobio does not ask.

 _Am I really too bossy and selfish like my teammates say I am_ , Tobio does not ask.

 _Will you stay here tonight so I’m not alone in this house_ , Tobio does not ask.

 _Do you miss him too_ , Tobio does not ask.

Miwa says, “There’s dinner in the fridge, Tobio,” and dusts hair off of his shoulders without actually touching him. “Eat well, okay?”

Tobio doesn’t reply.

3.

On the bus ride back from nationals, Hinata sat alone, cordoned off into the back with all their duffle bags on Coach Ukai’s orders.

“It’s not like we’ll get sick by just being around him,” Tanaka had complained, before promptly sneezing.

So: Hinata sits in the back with Tanaka (“Oh come _on_ , it’s just a sneeze!”), three duffle bags stacked between them. Tobio glances back at them once (Hinata lowers his mask to stick his tongue out at Tobio, like _yeah you won on the court this time but just! you! wait!_ , and Tobio sticks his tongue out back while Tsukishima snickers) before settling into a seat next to the window.

Sugawara sits down next to him. “You played well, Kageyama-kun,” he says, holding out his fist, and Tobio only hesitates briefly before bumping it with his own. “You better get to nationals again, next year – I’ll be in the stands, watching you!” Tobio nods in response, and Sugawara grins, eyes red and pleased. “When Karasuno wins, I’ll treat you to ginger fried pork, again,” Sugawara continues, soft and excited, and Tobio rests his head against the window, lets Sugawara talk and talk on the ride back to Miyagi.

Getting off the bus and walking home is a blur. For the first time, he and Hinata don’t race each other to get to the gym and practice together – Coach Ukai wouldn’t let either of them off until they promised to go straight home, and then Hinata’s mom had been standing outside to take him home, anyway.

He’s expecting the house to be empty when he unlocks the door, but instead, he pushes open the door and smells food – pork curry, maybe, and Tobio swallows as he shucks his shoes and leaves his duffle bag at the door, cautiously walking forward.

In the kitchen, there’s Miwa, her hair cut in a short bob with the tips dyed an electric blue, stirring something on the stove. “Nee-san?”

“Tobio,” Miwa greets back, flashing a quick smile at him before frowning down into the pot. “I got your text,” she says, reaching for the salt shaker. “Not bad.”

Tobio just nods. He had texted Miwa after visiting Hinata at the hospital, just a simple _we lost nationals_.

Miwa sends him off to shower and change. When he gets back, the table has been set, and Miwa places a plate in front of him as he sits down: pork curry, fluffy white rice, and a sunny side up egg on top.

He stares at it. Miwa sits across from him. “I watched you play, on the TV.”

“Oh.”

“You played well.”

“Thank you,” Tobio says, and takes a bite. The curry is salty, the rice a little burned, and the egg is a little too done for his liking. “Thank you,” he repeats, and swallows another bite.

There are a lot of questions he could ask. _Why are you here_ , as Miwa takes a bite of her own plate and winces. _Don’t you have exams_ , as Miwa gets up to grab some soy sauce. _Why did you watch nationals_ , as Miwa accidentally spills too much over her rice. _Do you understand how badly I wanted to win with this team_ , as Miwa sighs and mixes up her plate anyway. _Why did you leave me here_ , as Miwa takes another bite and shrugs. _Will you play volleyball with me again_ , as Miwa offers him some soy sauce.

“No,” Tobio says. “Thank you, nee-san.”

Miwa smiles at him. There’s a lot, in that smile: warmth, pain, pride, regret. It feels apologetic, and Tobio doesn’t really know what to do with it.

He clicks his chopsticks together and takes another bite. “Nee-san,” he starts, and stops. Miwa waits, eyebrow raised, and maybe it’s that or her new hair, but Tobio’s a little afraid and more than a little homesick for what they used to have.

Tobio swallows. “Will you cut my hair,” he says, finally, meeting her eyes. “It’s – it’s getting a little long, nee-san,” he finishes, and Miwa’s smile blossoms into a grin.

4.

Two days after an instant curry brand contacts him with a sponsorship deal, Miwa calls and asks him to get melon bread for her.

“I’m sick,” she says, and sneezes.

“Don’t you have friends, nee-san,” Tobio asks, and hangs up as she squawks in outrage.

Still, the Adlers had ended practice early, so: Tobio buys melon bread and cough drops from the convenience store and heads over to Miwa’s apartment.

Miwa opens the door on his third knock. “Thanks, Tobio,” she says, pleased, yanking the plastic bag from him and heading back in. Tobio rolls his eyes and follows, closing the door and taking in the apartment: the unfolded blankets on the sofa, the dirty dishes in the sink, the feverish glint in Miwa’s eyes as she tears open a bag of melon bread.

“You didn’t tell me that you were sick,” Tobio says, and Miwa, biting into the bread, just rolls her eyes.

“I’m almost better now,” she says, offering a bag of melon bread. Tobio shakes his head – he has a diet. “And I told you an hour ago, didn’t I?”

Tobio shrugs. There are several piles of magazines on the coffee table near the sofa, and he walks over, looks: fashion, idols, Ikea, and _Volleyball Monthly_ issues where Tobio is on the cover, holding up a ball and grinning, Ushijima at his side.

“Hey, Tobio,” Miwa says, and Tobio looks up. Miwa’s staring at him, melon bread finished and gone, expression thoughtful. “You have a shoot soon, right?”

“A commercial.”

Miwa hums. “You look good,” she says, tilting her head. “Your fringe is off, though.”

“How,” Tobio says, but Miwa has already turned to wade back into her apartment. Tobio hesitates, then follows her. “My friends said I looked nice,” he says, uselessly, watching her pull out a pair of slim scissors from her meticulously organized bathroom drawer with a triumphant grin. Hinata had hummed appreciatively when Tobio last FaceTimed, _you look good, Kageyama-kun, what’d you do?_

“You should never trust your friends,” Miwa says, stern. “They’ll lie to you about everything.”

“Really, nee-san?” Tobio deadpans.

“Me, though? I’d never lie to you, Tobio.”

Miwa has a chair in her bathroom for this express purpose, apparently. Kageyama’s too tall for it, but Miwa ignores him as she drapes a plastic sheet over him.

“Shouldn’t I be facing the mirror?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Didn’t you say that you’re sick?”

“Yeah, I _was_ sick,” Miwa says, and Tobio can see her roll her eyes at him in the corner of his eye. “I’m nearly better, and it’s not like I’m too sick to cut hair.”

“Okay,” Tobio says, dubious. Miwa steps over his legs and sneezes.

“Besides,” Miwa says, sniffing. She takes a spray bottle and mists water over Tobio, who sneezes. “It’s just your fringe. A few cuts, and you’ll look amazing.”

(A week later, Miwa texts him a video of the curry commercial. _Did they not let you record the line again lololololol you look so stiff_ , it reads, and Tobio scowls at it. Before he can reply, Miwa texts him again: _at least your hair doesn’t look ugly~~ say thank you~~_

Tobio sighs, closes his phone, and heads off to practice.)

5.

Two weeks before the Olympics are set to begin, Tobio meets Miwa at a restaurant for lunch.

It’s Hinata that inspires him to do it, after months of going to practice and listening to Hinata babble about taking Natsu out for dinner at a seafood restaurant where the oysters were _really_ delicious, at an ice cream shop where they had creamy frozen yogurt with nearly a _hundred_ flavors including buttered popcorn, at Onigiri Miya where Hinata and Natsu managed to get a selfie with Osamu Miya himself, the three of them sitting around a table of tamago onigiri.

“Do you go out to eat with your sister, too, Kageyama-kun?” Hinata asks, with very sincere curiosity. He swipes to show Kageyama a different picture: Hinata, in a melon orange jumper, and Natsu, in a lychee red cardigan, both of them clutching several sticks of yaki dango and grinning.

Tobio shrugs and doesn’t deign him with an answer, but he calls Miwa after practice.

And now they’re here: at a ramen restaurant Tobio’s diet technically forbids him from eating at. Miwa’s hair is shoulder-length, tied back in a ponytail and somehow very glittery, while Tobio keeps brushing his bangs away from his eyes.

“I’ll cut your hair after this,” Miwa promises after they order.

“It’s fine.”

“Would you rather let me, a professional, cut your hair, or you, an amateur with kitchen scissors?”

Tobio thinks it over. “Kitchen scissors.”

Miwa snorts. “I’m not letting you ruin your hair like that.”

Tobio shrugs, and their orders come in: miso ramen for Miwa, and shoyu ramen for Tobio.

“Besides,” Miwa says, once the waiter leaves, pointing her chopsticks at him. “It’s the Olympics! You need to look your best!”

“I’ve been there before,” Tobio says, stirring his bowl with his chopsticks.

“No one was there to watch you, though,” Miwa says, glum.

“Mom came.” She’d finally been promoted to international flights by the time Tobio graduated high school, and she’d been able to wave at him from the stands, still in uniform and grinning.

“Didn’t she leave halfway through your match?”

“She had a flight,” Tobio says, taking a bite, and Miwa snorts.

“I got tickets, this time,” she says, slurping a bite of her own. “Dad can’t come – _busy_ , he said – but I’ll be there, in the stands. I’ll watch you play!”

Tobio swallows. “Thanks, nee-san,” he says, and Miwa smiles at him.

“Look at you,” she says, pleased. “My baby brother, all grown up and at the Olympics!”

“Stop calling me a baby,” Tobio says, still chewing, and Miwa clucks her tongue in disapproval.

“No manners, even after all this time,” she complains, sighing dramatically with a tilt of her head and a pout. The movement reminds him of Oikawa, and for a moment he’s deeply grateful that the two have not and never will ever meet. “You know,” she starts, then hesitates, biting her lip.

Tobio swallows. “What?” he asks, and Miwa gives him a half-smile.

“Kazuyo-kun would have been proud to see you here,” Miwa says, voice soft. Tobio sets down his chopsticks and stares into his bowl. “Let’s cut your hair at my apartment, after,” Miwa says, after several beats of silence, and it’s a non-sequitur that Tobio’s grateful for.

6.

After the Olympics, after several hours of listening to Hinata and Oikawa regale him with stories of beach volleyball and humid nights in Brazil over bowls and bowls of ginger fried pork, Tobio visits Miwa the next afternoon.

“Don’t you have friends?” she asks, setting a plate of pork curry down in front of him, the fried egg placed neatly on top with the yolk raw and runny.

“I’m tired,” Tobio says, taking a bite while Miwa hums, sitting down across from him with her own plate. “I’ll see them later today, anyway.”

“If you say so.”

“Thanks, nee-san.”

“Don’t mention it,” Miwa says, mixing her own plate. “You played well today, Tobio,” she says, and Tobio grins, still chewing. “Gross, keep your mouth closed.”

Tobio nods and hums, swallows and takes another bite.

“Hey, Tobio,” Miwa says, after a few minutes. Tobio looks up. She’s frowning at her phone. “Could you do me a favor?”

“What?”

“After we eat, could you cut my hair? Just the tips.”

“Why?” Miwa’s hair is just a little past shoulder-length, now, with the ends dyed a vibrant mango orange.

Miwa sighs, clicks her phone shut. “They’re not a good look on me, are they? Orange isn’t my color.”

“I think it looks fine.”

“You’re my brother, of course you’d say that,” Miwa says, and she scowls when Tobio just shrugs. “Whatever, can you?”

“Why me?”

“You’re right here, aren’t you? It’s always easier to have someone else cut your hair.”

And so: they’re in Miwa’s bathroom, Tobio experimentally snipping the air with the scissors Miwa gave him while Miwa frowns at herself in a handheld mirror. “Right,” she says, spritzing her hair in three quick motions. “Just cut off all the orange, okay? Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Right,” Tobio echoes, hands hovering over Miwa’s head. She shoots him an unimpressed look.

“Steady hands, Tobio,” Miwa says, voice light but warning, and Tobio nods once, jerky and swift.

 _Steady hands_ , Kazuyo-kun used to say. _Our family has steady hands, Tobio._

He raises the scissors, and cuts.

**Author's Note:**

> alternative title would be “five times miwa cut tobio’s hair and one time he cut hers.”   
>  thanks for reading! ✰


End file.
